


Mahkurush

by sunryder



Series: Carving [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Post Mpreg, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunryder/pseuds/sunryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every detail of the child seemed perfectly Dwarven, unless you happened to know anything about Hobbits. His hair was Thorin’s black that lit like silver when it caught the light. But for all that the locks were swept back and away from the boy’s face -- just like Thorin -- his hair was too curly for a Dwarf. The same was true of the lad’s feet (shod, but too big for his little body), and his ears (perfect points that he could easily hide beneath his hair). The lad’s eyes were all Thorin’s, Bilbo had to admit, as well as that stubborn chin.</p><p>But, the nose. It was Bilbo’s nose, and his father’s, and his father’s before him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mahkurush means "to form a bond" in Neo-Khuzdul.
> 
> ETA: The name of the antagonist has been changed. This did nothing to the plot, but I had a good conversation with someone about the characterization of Dain and felt like I was taking a cheap shot that I'm probably going to regret by the time the third movie rolls about.

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, Bard. But I do have business at the mountain that I really must see to.”

 

The human ignored Bilbo’s objections and nudged him along into the receiving hall. “I have other things to do as well, Master Baggins, but I gave my word. And despite all the Dwarven nonsense I’ve been subjected to this winter, I like to keep my word.”

 

Bilbo tried to demand, “Your word to who?” but the question answered itself when a head full of black curls peeked around the room’s farthest pillar. Bilbo stuttered to a stop and Bard rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Be patient with the lad,” Bard whispered. “The Dwarves keep trying to use him as a pawn against Thorin.”

 

Some vicious part of Bilbo thought that was exactly what Thorin deserved for having a child he never bothered to tell Bilbo about, but the boy deserved nothing of the sort. He was just a child, dragged into the limelight by an accident of birth, probably just as displeased with his royalty as his cousins. In truth, Bilbo could imagine the frightfully clever lad punishing every interloping Dwarf by making them wish that they had never been born. For all that Thorin was a tactician, Bilbo was the cunning one in their relationship, and he rather liked the thought of passing that on.

 

Bilbo shook himself back to reality and sent Bard away with a quiet and unnecessary promise to be good.

 

When the door snicked firmly shut behind the Man, Bilbo strolled over to the table at the center of the room, shrugging off his pack. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the lad shuffling around the pillar, trying to keep himself out of sight while he still took in every last inch of Bilbo. (Bilbo didn’t mind, since he was doing exactly the same thing to the boy.)

 

Every detail of the child seemed perfectly Dwarven, unless you happened to know anything about Hobbits. His hair was Thorin’s black that lit like silver when it caught the light. But for all that the locks were swept back and away from the boy’s face -- just like Thorin -- his hair was too curly for a Dwarf. The same was true of the lad’s feet (shod, but too big for his little body), and his ears (perfect points that he could easily hide beneath his hair). The lad’s eyes were all Thorin’s, Bilbo had to admit, as well as that stubborn chin.

 

But, the nose. It was Bilbo’s nose, and his father’s, and his father’s before him.

 

All those little details (and yes, Bilbo’s nose counted as a little detail when compared to Thorin’s), told Bilbo’s heart something that his head could not comprehend. Yes, yes, he knew precisely what he’d read in that wretchedly dry book the lad had sent him, but reading the words on the page and seeing a boy who could not have been a more perfect blending of him and Thorin if someone had designed him, was something entirely else.

 

Bilbo wanted to demand to know precisely what had happened, but the child was not the one to give him those answers, particularly if Bilbo was horribly wrong about his creation. So instead of all the questions Bilbo wanted to ask, he said, “You have you father’s eyes.”

 

The boy froze, like he thought Bilbo might be talking to someone else. “Kili said you didn’t like the color of yours.”

 

And with that, Bilbo’s whole world changed.

 

So many answers to so many questions had been given in those few simple words. The child was his. His and Thorin’s. The child had been born from some secret Dwarven practice, made to look like them both. And at the very least Thorin’s nephews had known about it. Had supported him in creating a child with Bilbo and not telling him that he’d been made a father.  

 

There were no words for such a betrayal, no possible way to explain his fury that the boy was the one who’d had to tell Bilbo that he existed, and that the right noble King Under the Mountain hadn’t had the common decency to _mention_ a child, or to at least ask permission before giving someone Bilbo’s nose!

 

Oh, Thorin Oakenshield was going to get a piece of Bilbo’s mind when they got to the mountain. That Dwarf was going to look back on his fights with Azog like they were a midsummer party by the time Bilbo was done with him.

 

A whimper from behind the pillar is what told Bilbo his grumbles about Thorin had been aloud rather than in his head. The child had just listened to Bilbo rant and rave about how furious he was with the boy’s father, and now he was standing stock still like he thought Bilbo was about to turn on him.

 

“You have to tell my Adad that I love him.”

 

Bilbo hadn’t a clue how the boy’s fear of Bilbo connected to begging him to carry a message. “What?”

 

“My Adad, you have to tell him that I love him, and not to be sad. He’s spent too long being sad, and he can’t waste any more time like that. And tell Fili and Kili that they’re the best brothers I could ever ask for and I love them. And—”

 

Bilbo raised his hands to calm the lad back down and try and talk this out. Typically he passed children back to their parents when they started crying, but that option wasn’t available to him anymore. “Now wait, why do you want me to…” Bilbo trailed off when he realized what exactly was wrong.

 

There were tears etching trails down the boy’s plump cheeks, carving lines over skin that moments ago had been rosy, and now was turning pale. The tears dripped from his soft jaw and splashed down to the ground to land beside Thain’s stone feet.  

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got artwork! AutumnOwl made me this lovely rendition of Thain: http://i1102.photobucket.com/albums/g448/zoprano13/NewCanvas.jpg

Thain couldn’t feel his feet.

 

He’d put on shoes to sneak out to Dale because Bard fussed like a little old lady when Thain didn’t, and wearing no shoes was the surest way in the world to get himself packed right back to Erebor, whether or not he needed to have a secret rendezvous with Bilbo Baggins. In truth, Bard had tried to send Thain home anyway, but the boy had stuck out both his shoe-clad feet and tried to give Bard his best impish grin, which came out like a sickly grimace.

 

Bard had pulled Thain up into his arms – as he liked to do now that his own children had deemed themselves too old for such fussing – and prodded Thain until he spilled the source of his troubles. The only thing Thain had to say was that Bilbo Baggins was due to arrive in Dale today, and Thain wanted to speak with him before anyone else did. Bard had hmm-ed in mistaken understanding, but had agreed to help anyway.

 

And now, Bilbo was furious that Thorin had created a child, and Thain couldn’t feel his feet.

 

This was not how things were supposed to go. When Bilbo realized what he’d done, he would feel wretched, and Thorin would never forgive him, and Thain’s parents were going to hate each other for the rest of their lives, and he was never going to get to feel stone under his bare toes ever again.

 

Every Dwarf struck a bargain with Eru Illúvatar when they chose to carve a child into this world. Aulë had made the Dwarves without permission from Illúvatar, the father of all creation. Eventually Illúvatar had permitted them to exist, but that meant when any Dwarf used Aulë’s gift they were required to abide by certain rules. Each parent promised that they would love the child that they carved, and would teach them about all the beauty of his world. Should they recant that promise, Illúvatar had the right to take the child back.

 

So now, in the discomfort of his unnecessary shoes, Thain’s feet were turning back to stone.

 

He’d known it was a possibility, every Dwarf did. There were horror stories told about a Dwarf who raised a hand to their child, only to wake the next morning and find the injured child had become nothing more than rock. But despite knowing it was possible, Thain hadn’t ever thought…

 

It’s just, his Papa was supposed to love him.

 

He was supposed to be happy to see Thain, and together they’d march up to Erebor and scold Adad for being thick as a mineshaft wall, then they’d make up, and be a happy family.

 

But now Thain couldn’t feel his knees.

 

He couldn’t wriggle his toes, couldn’t bounce on the balls of his feet, couldn’t spring up and at least get to hug his Papa once before the end. Wouldn’t get to ride around on Kili’s shoulders, or swing in Fili’s arms, or curl up beside his Adad for bedtime stories. But he had a few minutes still, and he could speak. And if there was one thing a Hobbit knew how to do, it was speak.

 

“You have to tell my Adad that I love him.”

 

Bilbo slammed to a stop mid-word. “What?”

 

“My Adad, you have to tell him that I love him, and to not be sad. He’s spent too long being sad, and he can’t waste any more time like that. And tell Fili and Kili that they’re the best brothers I could’ve ever asked for and I love them. And—”

 

Bilbo held out his palms to calm Thain down. “Now wait, why do you want me to…” Thain put his fists on his freshly stone hips, certain that his Papa couldn’t be quite this dense. “Why… stop it.”

 

Thain was a son of Durin, and Durins absolutely did not cry. So he bit his bottom lip and ignored how it hurt to breathe, ignored how all he wanted to do was slump into his Papa’s arms and sob, but he couldn’t bend his knees. “I can’t.”

 

“No, you stop this right now, young Hobbit!” Bilbo thrust a shaking finger at him. “No son of mine is going to walk around like a block of brick, I will not have it! You can’t garden like that, and I shudder to think what you’ll do to my teacups, and how am I supposed to get your feet clean if they’re made of rock, you tell me that?”

 

Bilbo shattered the distance between them, dropping down to his knees so he could look up at his son, cradling still-soft cheeks between his palms. “I don’t know what to do if you’re made of stone. We Hobbits aren’t built for it. So you, you stop it this instant. I barely know what to do with a child and I haven’t the faintest idea what to do with you if you’re not breathing anymore.”

 

With his still-free arms, Thain reached out and touched his Papa’s face. Eye to eye as they were, Thain could see how Bilbo trembled. He was trying so hard to be brave for Thain. He’d faced down the Defiler, and Thranduil, and an _urkhasul_ dragon, and Thain turning to stone is what made him shake.

 

“I’ve never been good with children, and I’d long since stopped thinking that I would have any of my own, which I would’ve told your infernal father if he’d bothered—” the stone that had been holding steady around the base of Thain’s ribs shot up to his collarbones and Bilbo rushed along.

 

“But, none of that matters now. I would love you. I _do_ love you, and there’s so much I want to show you. All the beautiful things that Dwarves don’t notice because they’re underground all the time, but, I could do that. I could sing you my mother’s songs and read you my father’s stories, if you’d just stay around long enough to let me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urkhasul – demon-like. Honestly, the best insult I could find in the Neo-Khuzdul dictionary.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Official post for happyaria's artwork of Thain is [HERE](http://happyaria.tumblr.com/post/71832150707/thain-son-of-thorin-and-yeah-bilbo-character)

“You really mean it? You love me?” Thain asked, a painful hesitancy in his voice.

 

“Of course I mean it. You’re my boy.” Bilbo cupped pale, plump cheeks between his hands. His son was so small. Taller, but leaner than a Hobbit would be at this age, and with none of the bulk that he’d always imagined on Fili and Kili as children.

 

“But, when Dwarf parents don’t love their children Illúvatar turns them back to stone. He takes them back to Aulë to protect them and give them the love they deserve.” Bilbo stared at him in disbelief, and Thain shrugged like the whole thing made perfect kind sense to him.

 

“Dwarves,” Bilbo spat with a headshake. “There’s not an ounce of common sense among the whole species, even in the one who carved out your thick skulls.” Bilbo pulled Thain forward at the once again bendable waist, and plopped a wet, smacking kiss on his forehead. “I’m not irritated with _you_ dear one,I’m irritated with your father, which I’m allowed to be given that he made us a child and neglected to tell me anything about it!”

 

Bilbo ran nimble fingers down the boy’s sides, stopping to tuck in his shirt and ruffle the soft curls atop his feet. “I’ve missed a whole year of your life.  A year! A year of adventures, and discoveries, and stories, and terrible Dwarf table manners that I’ll never get to see, and spend the rest of our lives trying to undo. Good heavens, I don’t even know where you came from.”

 

Thain’s cheeks pinked under the attention. “I’m not allowed to tell you that, at least, not while we’re outside the mountain.”

 

“Of course. Yavanna forbid that Dwarves ever come out and just say what they’re thinking.”

 

Thain tried to muffle his giggles, but Bilbo pestered him with tickles until he broke. “Do I get that from you, then? Making Adad talk about things?”

 

“Well, that depends. Does Thorin get a twitch in the corner of his eye whenever you tell him that you think he’s being an idiot?”

 

“We’re not supposed to say ‘idiot’,” Thain replied with all the seriousness of a boy who’d been lectured on that particular topic more often than he could count.

 

Bilbo gave him a soft smile. “You’re absolutely right. I shall have to delve deep into my vocabulary and use only the most appropriate of words when I’m shouting at your other father later.”

 

Thain slumped forward against Bilbo’s chest with a fit of laughter. He could just see it now: Adad’s shoulder’s slumped while he stared at his shuffling feet and mumbled out apologies while Bilbo ranted about proper behavior. (He thought it would be perfect since that was precisely what Thain did when Balin scolded him.)

 

“You can’t be _too_ mad at him for not telling you. Really, Adad wasn’t even supposed to make me, but since he’s Thorin Oakenshield only fools were the ones who complained.”

 

“Let me guess, Wolum?”

 

Thain snickered at Bilbo’s eye roll, overjoyed that someone else innately understood how disagreeable the Dwarven Lord was. “Since we can’t talk about where I came from, he tried to pretend that his daughter was my mum.” 

 

Given all the time he’d spent with melancholic Dwarves, Thain had expected Bilbo to curl up into a ball and mope at that piece of news. He had a detailed plan to drag his papa up to Erebor and endure weeks of longing looks and stifled romantic moments before Thain told his adad all about the Hobbit lass who’d been pursing Papa before he came back. Thorin would be broken at the thought of Bilbo in a relationship with someone else, and with the right kind of prodding would swear his undying love, thinking reciprocation to be hopeless. Bilbo would realize that whatever Wolum had said about Hagaa to drive him out simply wasn’t true, and they’d all be one happy family, the way they were meant to be.

 

However, at this moment, Thain grasped that he’d never actually spent time with a Hobbit before and despite everything the Company had said, he was wholly unprepared for what came next. 

 

Bilbo puffed up in a fury and managed to look more terrifying than Dwalin in his battle-scarred armor. “You mean to tell me,” he slowly over-enunciated, “that your father used some ancient Dwarven secret method to make our child, neglected to tell me about it, and then let some royal hussie run around and call herself your other parent?”

 

Thain paused, because that was exactly what had happened, but he was positive that saying ‘yes’ to Bilbo’s question would make matters worse. So instead, he stuttered out an “Umm…” and well, that didn’t help.

 

“Oh, that, that… _Dwarf_!” Bilbo cursed for lack of a better and more despicable word. Bilbo scooped up Thain and propped the child on his hip as they stormed out the door. Thain was vaguely aware of Bard calling after them, begging Bilbo to stop and think before he did something rash, but Bilbo wasn’t having any of it. He flicked a hand over his shoulder and kept on storming up to the gates of Erebor.

 

Thain peered over his papa’s shoulder and gave Bard a jaunty wave. “We’re off to see Adad!”

 

He didn’t need to hear the Human to know that he was murmuring a strange mix of curses and prayers under his breath. (Curses that he’d been inflicted with stubborn Dwarven neighbors, and prayers that Bilbo wasn’t about to kill the King Under the Mountain after all he’d gone through to get Thorin broken in.

 

Though honestly, given the child nestled in his arms like he belonged there and the way Bilbo had fled Erebor with the kind of dead look in his eyes that Bard recalled from the months after his wife died, the King of Dale couldn’t really blame the Hobbit for his urge to take payment for his troubles out of Thorin’s hide.)

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this isn't one of the better chapters.

It wasn’t Fili’s shifty eyes, or Kili elbowing his brother in the ribs every ten seconds that told Thorin something was wrong. It was that never before in the whole course of his existence had Balin ever uttered the word “Umm…”

 

Thorin dropped the scrolls in his hands and crossed the room in three long strides. “Are you alright? What’s wrong? Is someone dying?”

 

“No. No, no, no. No.” Balin petered out, then pursed his lips to hide his expression behind his beard and glanced over at Fili. While Thorin’s heir paled, Kili had the gumption to chuckle, “Not yet anyway.”

 

“Any what does that mean?”

 

“Thorin Oakenshield! You get your useless, gold-hoarding, perpetually-lost arse out here this instant!”

 

Thorin could almost feel every creature in the whole mountain stop breathing at the sound of Bilbo Baggins’s shouts echoing through the halls. The silence was enough that Thorin could hear Thain scold, “We’re not supposed to say ‘arse’, Papa.”

 

“You’re right my boy, I apologize.”

 

Thorin stumbled out of the council chamber and out to the balcony overlooking the grand hall where Erebor’s Dwarves passed through during their days. Down below there were numberless people all watching Bilbo, and as each second passed, more and more Dwarves spilled into the room. Thorin liked to think that maybe they were there to defend his honor, but he knew every last person wanted to see the legendary Bilbo Baggins, Deceiver of Smaug, Hero of Erebor, and unacknowledged other father of the Prince Under the Mountain.

 

Some part of Thorin realized that he ought to be furious that a member of his Company was down there shouting insults that ranged to the high ceilings, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. Because Bilbo Baggins was in Erebor.

 

Thorin’s Hobbit was standing safe and sound inside his mountain.

 

Propped on Bilbo’s hip was Thain, tiny fists clutching tight to his papa’s jacket while he gave the assemblage a vibrant grin. For all that Thain was a friendly lad, he wasn’t one for casual contact. Thorin was almost certain that his son had been more offended at how Hagaa had scooped him up into her lap than he was by her trying to be his mother. He let only their family, the Company, and – to Thorin’s never-ending surprise – Bard’s family, touch him. That Thain had known Bilbo less than an hour and was already snuggled against his side, his curly head resting on Bilbo’s shoulder, was more than Thorin had ever hoped for.

 

At night he dreamt about what their family might be like: Thorin’s two Hobbits fussing over breakfast in the morning, dragging him out of meetings during the day, and curling up by the fire at night. He dreamt that he’d watch Bilbo wrap their son up in blankets and tell him sweet stories of the Shire. Bilbo would dash around the room, acting out all the parts and then darting close to whisper his own teasing theories. As the story wore on, Thorin’s gaze would grow heavy and hungry, and Bilbo would stutter through the last the minutes before he’d drop a tender kiss to Thain’s temple and drag Thorin off to bed.

 

Thorin had the same dream nearly every night, and when he woke in the morning he would reach across the bed for Bilbo, only to have his heart ache when the Hobbit wasn’t there. But Thain, with the perfect timing known only to the young, would bound into Thorin’s room with the bright smile he’d inherited from his Hobbit father. Thorin would pull his boy close, breath in the warm scent of healthy child, and push his way through the day.

 

But now, there were his Hobbits, looking like they’d stepped right out of Thorin’s deepest dreams.

 

Except, of course, for how Bilbo had finally caught sight of Thorin and was furiously tapping his foot in a demand that Thorin get himself down there before Bilbo had to raise his voice again, and just see if he wouldn’t.

 

With a hand clapped to Thorin’s shoulder, Fili pulled his uncle out of his reverie. “I promise, we’ll protect the kingdom after he kills you. Though, I think you should know right now, Bilbo is probably going to stage a coup before your corpse is cold and our people will end up as farmers paying homage to their Hobbit king.”

 

Fili had meant to tease Thorin out of staring, to make him rear up like the king he was and battle with Bilbo rather than wilt. But as usual, Fili’s plan had rather the opposite effect.

 

Amongst Dwarves, it wasn’t terribly uncommon to carve a child with someone you weren’t in a relationship with. It was something to be cautious about, because if you planned on using the child to force someone into a bond, the child would never breathe. If the child was wanted for some purpose other than to be a child (or if the other parent didn’t want the child at all), then they would never be anything more than stone.

 

It had been a foolish move on Thorin’s part. He was desperate to keep some part of Bilbo for himself, and to create the child they might have had to together if Bilbo had loved him back. Thorin had known that he wanted Thain with every breath in his body, but no matter how much Thorin longed for the child, it was still more than likely that Bilbo wouldn’t Mahal would not allow his gift to be defiled in such a way. With Thain’s life came hope, not only for the future of all Dwarves, but that perhaps someday Bilbo might forgive Thorin his trespasses and come home.

 

He’d planned on writing to Bilbo and explaining the process, explaining that to Dwarves it was a common enough practice, and he would ask nothing of Bilbo that he did not want to give. However, it seemed that Thain believed his father was incapable of managing his own affairs. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long! But I wrote and rewrote this a dozen times until I got to the ending that felt right to me. 
> 
> Also, I've gone back through the stories and changed the name of the antagonist. This did nothing to the plot, but I had a good conversation with someone about the characterization of Dain and felt like I was taking a cheap shot that I'm probably going to regret by the time the third movie rolls about.

Thorin expected Bilbo to come at him like a fury. For the Hobbit to be a mess of shouted words and furious gestures, all delivered with Thain’s supporting nods. And every word would lash into Thorin’s skin with vicious precision, scorning him but never impling that Bilbo had one breath of regret over Thain.

But, as always, Bilbo did the unexpected.

The Hobbit strode across the hall, ignoring the untold number of Dwarven eyes that tracked him through the space. Bilbo forced himself to a stop one step away from crashing straight into Thorin’s chest, and rocked back on his heels to put a dignified amount of distance between them without actually stepping away.

Kili and his bright smile tried to step into the space between them, and got an armful of Thain for his trouble. Both son and nephew squeaked and summoned up their courage to try and intervene again (and perhaps spare Thorin’s life). But Bilbo’s shoulder’s were hunched, and no creature was fool enough to get in Bilbo Baggins’s way when his posture was wrong. Out of the corner of his eye Thorin caught Fili dragging Kili away by the scruff of his tunic, and Thorin supposed he could be grateful that at least his heir retained the sense Mahal gave him before he had to take over the kingdom after Thorin’s ignominious death at the hands of a Hobbit.

Rather than attack with his clever tongue, Bilbo flicked his eyes from the new silver in Thorin’s hair, past the fine fabric of his coat, down to the unbattered leather of his boots, and back up again. If Thorin didn’t know better, he’d think Bilbo was checking him for injuries so he could attack the weak spot. It didn’t seem a very Bilbo thing to do, but months of travel and a child later, Thorin had accepted that he was probably never going to understand his beloved.

“Thain spent the walk from Dale telling me his entire life story since I was not allowed to witness it for myself,” Thorin had the grace to flinch. “And somewhere in the midst of it, he explained how one of the great Dwarven lords of Erebor tried to take away my son.”

“Well that’s not quite—” Kili tried to explain, and Fili stomped on his foot.

“In Uncle’s defense, Wolum has been banished for the offense.”

“I don’t care that he was banished! I don’t care if Thorin strung him up by his thumbs outside the front gate!” Every Dwarf in the room flinched at the notion of damage to their artisan hands. Bilbo pulled himself back from shouting at his already pale nephews. It seemed he hadn’t noticed that they were surrounded by nearly the sum total of Erebor’s people, and he leaned in close to grasp for as much privacy as he could salvage. “He is my boy, Thorin. I sat in my house all alone, with nothing but the ghosts of those I love to keep me company, and you kept my son from me.”

Bilbo pressed his scolding finger of doom scant centimeters from the tip of Thorin’s nose and it was all the Dwarf could do not to rear back in anticipation of a blow. “Dwarves are… odd. That much I have learned. But so help me Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo gulped out the words, “you did wrong by me.”

“‘Wrong’ does not begin to encompass it. I broke faith with you, one of the Dwarven people’s greatest heroes.” Bilbo rolled his eyes at such lofty and unwanted praise,. but before his disavowal could take back the conversation, Thorin stumbled out, “And you are the love of my life.”

For the first time in written history, a Baggins did not know what to say. The confusion in Bilbo’s eyes made Thorin want to swallow back his words, but he could feel Thain at his shoulder nearly vibrating out of Kili’s grip, and Thorin knew his son would never forgive him if he stopped now. “For my crimes I should have given you my beard, and my sword hand, and abdicated to spend my days in exile, but I am selfish. You wanted to go home, and after all I inflicted on you, I let you. But I could not bring myself to part with you completely.”

“This, this making children without the approval of the other parent, Thain said it’s something Dwarves do?”

“I was crafted after our Da died,” Kili chipped in. “And I don’t think there’s enough parchment in the world to explain how the Ur lads are actually related.”

Bilbo pursed his lips and the boys stuttered back, pushing Thorin forward as a sacrifice to Bilbo’s temper. He wasn’t quite sure how, but Thorin found the Hobbit’s palms pressed to his chest and his own hands low on Bilbo’s waist. Despite his dishonor, Thorin could not bring himself to move away from the frantic in and out of Bilbo’s ribs. Instead, he traced the arch of Bilbo’s spine through his shirt and fought the longing to do the same in naught but skin.

“I understand that I have wronged you in a way that I will never be able to amend, but I hope—”

Bilbo pressed his fingers to Thorin’s lips, bottling up a plea that he might still be permitted to see his son. “Among Hobbits, when you get a lass pregnant, you marry her.”

“That’s…” Thorin wanted to say archaic, and he could only imagine Dis’s response, but he refrained.

“You bore me a child, Thorin Oakenshield. You are my son’s other parent, and since you brought him into the world through Dwarf means, and those means have gotten you into a mountain of trouble that you will be apologizing for for the rest of your life, I propose that it’s time we start doing things the Hobbit way.”

“Th-the Hobbit way?”

“Yes, you great, useless lump.” Bilbo flicked Thorin on the tip of his nose. “You’re going to marry me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really and truly done this time. Which, I know, is exactly what I said at the end of the first story, but I have no more ideas for this universe.


End file.
